


we two have paddled in the stream

by hihoplastic



Series: DW Tumblr Prompts/Reposts [17]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, No Plot, just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 18:58:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9137212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hihoplastic/pseuds/hihoplastic
Summary: The Doctor frowns, bite halfway to his mouth, then rolls his eyes at his wife’s innocent pout.  She’s difficult to resist on the best of days, but now, with her legs draped out the TARDIS door, socked feet swinging in space, it’s impossible.





	

**Author's Note:**

> \- for nikki, who requested _river and twelve ringing in the new year_. i hope you like it, hon!  <3  
> \- title and poems by robert burns

“Pass the shrimp?”

The Doctor frowns, bite halfway to his mouth, then rolls his eyes at his wife’s innocent pout. She’s difficult to resist on the best of days, but now, with her legs draped out the TARDIS door, socked feet swinging in space, it’s impossible. 

“Oh, just take it,” he grumbles, stabbing his chopsticks back in the container and handing it over. “It’s not like you won’t eat the whole thing anyway.” 

River glowers, but plucks the container from his hand and passes him another. “You don’t even like seafood,” she says, already hunting through the rice with the same determination as when digging for precious artifacts. 

“I haven’t actually gotten to try any yet,” he reminds her, discarding the vegetables in favor of the remaining moo shu. “You keep stealing it.”

“I’m saving you from yourself.” 

The Doctor snorts. “You just keep saying that because you don’t want to admit you’re—”

He’s cut off, River’s chopsticks withdrawing, leaving his mouth full of shrimp. He just manages not to choke, glaring at her as he chews until the taste hits. 

“Good?” River asks knowingly. 

He tries, he does, to smile and chew and be happy. “Delicious.” 

River shakes her head. “Just spit it out, sweetie.” 

He does, grabbing a napkin and resisting the urge to chuck the offending food into space. Beside him, River huffs, grumbling into her carton, “Waste of a perfectly good shrimp,” before she sets it aside, clearly dissatisfied. 

Wiping his hand over his mouth, the Doctor can only stare at her fondly as she hunts around in the remaining containers spread around them on the floor. He’s fairly certain they ordered one of everything, but she’s pickier than she used to be, and he can’t blame her. 

As delightful as her little pout is, he’s never been able to watch her suffer, not even over something as ridiculous as a crustacean. After reaching into his pocket, he taps her arm. 

“Just who do you think you’re married to?” 

The frown slips from her face as her eyes land on the carton, and she beams up at him with such admiration, like he’s given her the moon. 

“You got extra?”

He nods, watching as she tears into the packaging, her smile widening before she looks up at him, leaning over to buss a kiss to his cheek.

“You’re the best.”

She says it like she means it, literally, the best in the whole wide universe, for remembering extra shrimp. No one should be that easy to please, he thinks, least of all his wife, who deserves anything and everything her heart desires. He wants to tell her so, but the lump that always forms in his throat when he thinks about it forms again, and he forces himself to look away, glowering into his food with a muttered, 

“Brush your teeth after. You smell like shellfish.” 

River rolls her eyes and knocks her shoulder into his, upending his chopstick full of moo shu into his lap. 

“Seriously?” 

She smirks around a bite. 

Brushing off his jacket and trousers, he’s about to retort when the first lights go up from the planet below, and he abandons his food in favor of scooting closer to the edge, hand on the doorframe. 

“Look, it’s starting.”

River slides closer, her thigh pressed to his, leaning out of the TARDIS even as she keeps a firm hold on her food. 

Rolling his eyes, the Doctor wraps an arm around her waist. He’s certain the TARDIS wouldn’t let her fall, and even if she did the shield would catch her, but he can’t help it. He’s a protective, possessive old man and the only reason he’s fine with that is that River seems to be, too, at least for the moment. 

She’s been humoring him, he knows, letting him talk her into more quiet evenings, less dangerous trips, smaller crowds. Even this, one of her favorite holidays to spend crashing elaborate parties across the universe, and she agreed to spend it in the TARDIS, floating a safe distance from the fireworks shooting off around the Towers. 

It’s beautiful, he has to admit—bright, vibrant colors exploding in the shapes of animals, flowers and old gods and mythical creatures. River laughs delightedly at the dragon, sparking its way between the Towers, before flying up, up, and exploding into a rain of color.

He wants to watch, but his attention keeps shifting, caught up in the reflections of light on her cheek and in her hair, the slope of her nose, the wrinkles around her eyes when she laughs. He follows the line of her neck to her shoulders, one of his sweaters thrown on over a loose t-shirt. He stares at her hands, delicate bones, and knows how soft those hands can be, how devoted, how cruel. He’s seen every side of her and wants more, always, and when his eyes fall to her stomach, he knows he’ll get it soon.

“Sweetie, you’re missing it.”

Looking up, he meets her gaze, what he’s sure is a besotted smile on his face. “I’m enjoying the view.”

River flushes, just faintly, and rolls her eyes. “The view’s out there,” she says, gesturing to the fireworks—it’s an elephant, this time—with her chopsticks. 

Unable to resist, he tucks an escaped curl behind her ear. “No, it isn’t.”

She softens, as she always, does, setting aside her food to cuddle up next to him as best she can, her hand sliding into his over his knee. 

“You’re not going to get away with this forever, you know,” she says, leaning her head against his shoulder, eyes on the celebration below.

“Get away with what?” 

“The coddling.”

“I’m not coddling you.”

“What do you call this?”

“I call it New Year’s Eve with my wife.”

“Sweetie, we’re usually the one _making_ the fireworks, not watching them.”

“I think we made some pretty substantial fireworks this morning, don’t you?”

River huffs. “Not _those_ fireworks. The running ones. The dangerous ones.”

“I don’t know, that was pretty dangerous.” River arches her neck to glare up at him. “I’m just saying! You’re the size of a whale; I could have been crushed.”

“I could raise this baby alone, you know,” she threatens, though it’s mild and her lips keep vying for a smile. 

Still, the Doctor tightens his grip around her waist. “I’ve no doubt,” he murmurs. “But you’re not going to.”

Reaching out, River brushes her thumb over his cheek, cradling it in her palm. “I know.” 

Turning, he presses a kiss to her palm, and River sighs. “I’m still serious about the coddling.”

“River—”

“It hasn’t been just for you,” she says, shifting to better see his face. The angle presses her stomach into his side, and his hand falls to it automatically, searching out a hearts beat. “I’ve needed this. The break. The security.” She looks down, covering his hand with hers. “I didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize—”

“I know. You haven’t.”

She manages a smile. “Two more weeks.”

“Two more weeks.”

“And then I _really_ need to shoot something. Anything, darling, honestly—”

The Doctor laughs, tugging her close to press a kiss to the top of her head. “Alright. We’ll find you something to shoot. After the baby comes.”

“Fine.”

“And after you’ve recovered.”

River purses her lips. “Okay.”

He pauses. “And after—”

“Shut up,” she murmurs, kissing him to silence his list. He smiles, until her tongue slides into his mouth and her hands frame his face and he forgets all about everything except holding her close. She’s the only one who can do that, who can quiet the constant chatter in his head with something as simple as her hands in his hair or her laughter or her kisses. 

He feels brighter when he touches her, like some of her light infuses his dark. 

Breaking off, breathless, River presses her forehead to his, noses touching, her hand curling in the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“See?” he manages after a moment, voice still thick and low. “Fireworks.”

River smiles. “I suppose they did have a certain explosive-like qualit—”

She breaks, flinching on a gasp, her hand flying to her abdomen. 

His hearts stop. “River?”

She frowns, catching her breath. “Fine, sweetie. Probably just a reaction to the—” This time she moans, teeth clenching. "I think my water just broke." 

The Doctor takes her arm, helping her off the floor and into one of the lounge chairs he’d moved down from the second level.

“It’s too early,” River says, catching her breath. “I can’t be in labor, it’s—”

“Time Lord baby, 38 weeks is fine,” he promises, propping her feet up on a small ottoman. 

“Are you lying to me?”

The Doctor shakes his head. “No. A bit. Yes.”

“ _Doctor,_ ” she warns, her voice near a growl, and he pauses, crouching next to her, one hand on her abdomen. 

“River, look at me.” She does, eyes wide and slightly panicked. He can see her training try to kick in, calm in all circumstances, except this is new, and frightening, and personal, and he takes her hand and squeezes. “On my life, River. She’ll be safe.”

River stares, expression shifting to one he can’t quite name, and he knows she remembers those words, remembers that promise, and after a moment, she nods. 

“How do I look?” she asks on a deep breath. 

The Doctor smirks. “Like crap, actually. Your face is all ghosty and—” He ducks out of the way as she tries to smack him in the chest. 

“Oh, shove off and take me to hospital.”

Grinning, he scurries over to the console, keeping one eye on her at all times as he eases them in and out of the vortex. 

He crosses to help her up, but she shakes her head, eyes closed. “I want to stay here until I absolutely can't.”

The Doctor nods, checks outside to ensure they are, in fact, at the right hospital at the right time. She wants the baby born on Darillium, in linear order, with a real, accurate birthdate. 

Satisfied he hasn’t screwed it up, he moves a chair to sit beside her, bringing a few books along with him. 

“What should we read this time?”

River takes a deep breath. “She likes the poetry.”

“ _You_ like the poetry.”

“I like the way you read it.”

“What, grudgingly?” he mutters, but he softens, picking out the book from the stack and setting the others on the floor. Clearing his throat, he opens to the bookmarked page, the one he’s been wanting to read but hasn’t, the one he could never find the courage for. He toys with the edge of the page, eyes skimming the words, and when he looks up again River has her eyes squeezed shut, her fingers curled tightly around the arm of the chair.

He takes her hand, and with the thickest accent he can muster, begins, “ _O my luve is like a red, red rose that’s newly sprung in June: O my luve is like the melodie that’s sweetly played in tune._ ”

He sees the flicker of surprise on her face, her lips parting, her sharp intake of breath, but she doesn’t say anything, doesn’t open her eyes, and it’s easier than he expected, to keep going, line by line, watching every flicker of emotion on her face. He doesn’t look at the book, doesn’t need to, and when she finally opens her eyes she finds him staring at her, not at the words, as he murmurs the last lines, “ _And fare thee weel, my only luve, and fare thee weel a while, and I will come again, my luve, tho’ it were ten thousand mile._ ” 

River stares at him a moment, only the hum of the TARDIS between them, before latching on to the back of his neck and hauling him close, kissing him fiercely, sweetly, with her hand just hovering over his cheek. 

She breaks away on a wince, and the Doctor rubs his thumb over her hand. “I’m okay,” she says, still breathless. “I think it’s going to be a while. Only your offspring could be both early _and_ late.”

The Doctor snorts. “She’ll get here when she gets here, no sooner or later.”

“Try telling that to my uterus.”

Shrugging, the Doctor leans down toward her belly. “River would like me to tell you—”

“Oh, shut up,” she laughs, shoving him away, “and read me another poem.”

Pressing a quick kiss to the top of her hand, the Doctor retreats to his own chair and picks up the book, flipping through it until he finds one that’s suitable. Glancing over to make sure she’s still comfortable, he begins, 

_“My girl she’s airy, she’s buxom and gay, her breath is as sweet as the blossoms in May, a touch of her lips it ravishes quite…”_


End file.
